Pushing Time
by EmeraldLily7918
Summary: What happens when time moves on. Dominating middle school was easy, so shouldn't high school be just as simple? There are bigger monsters in Rikkai than Yukimura, Sanada, and Yanagi. Warning: OCs and language. Not yaoi. A/N: I don't own PoT, and this applies to all the chapters in this fic.
1. Drama-Free Year, Right? Yeah, Sure

**Drama-Free Year, Right? Yeah, Sure…**

The birds were singing.

An absolute picture of perfection, Yukimura lifted one arm and slammed it down on the snooze button of the bird, quieting it for the next five minutes and giving himself a few more minutes of shut-eye. He nestled his head into the pillow, rubbing his cheek against the silky fabric and the rough texture of his hair, which was splayed out around his face in the splendor of a male peacock's tail—except it was blue, and shorter, and considerably less tame.

The birds started singing again, and this time Yukimura knew in the back of his head that he had to get up. His nose twitching lazily, he sat up in his bed, his eyes still reluctant to open and face the dawn light filtering through his window and patterning his skin. He forced them up, retreating like a vampire as they fought to adjust. He turned his head away from his window, scanning the familiar topography of his room. His gaze snagged on the Rikkai Dai uniform hanging on his closet door.

"Oh, yeah," Yukimura murmured. He was starting high school today. The excitement that had brewed inside of him for the previous couple of weeks climaxed in his gut and simmered down disappointingly. "I don't feel different," he mused, shrugging. It couldn't be helped, he supposed.

He pushed himself to the edge of his bed and touched his bare toes to the ground, padding softly into the bathroom. He went through his usual morning ritual of brushing his teeth, gurgling mouthwash, and spitting the blue liquid out in his sink. He stripped down and stepped into the shower, cranking on the water to drinking-water temperature and giving himself some time to go blank.

Yukimura wasn't one to worry himself with petty pleasures like the first day of school. Guillain-Barrés had really put life in perspective for Yukimura, and he had finally realized how short it really was. There certainly wasn't enough time to spend any of it stressing out. The old Yukimura probably would have woken up and thought something about dominating at Nationals. The new Yukimura also wants that, but now that his vision was less blinkered, he was also determined to catch up on all of life's hidden wonders when he still had the chance.

After a few minutes Yukimura raised his arms to his head and roughly massaged his hair, teasing out the tangles. A mist began to rise into the air—his cue to hurry up. He quickly rinsed his mouth with water and spit it onto the ground. He stepped out and wrapped himself in a towel, the mirror before him misted up now. He heard the annoying ring of his sister's alarm clock and quickly dried himself up, pulling on his white T-shirt and plaid pajama pants.

"Nii-san, hurry up," Sumiko called, rapping loudly three times in succession on the wooden door.

"Wait your turn, Koko," Yukimura teased softly—she hated being called that.

"But it's the first day of school, Nii-san," she whined admonishingly, leaning on the door.

Today, his pet name for her didn't seem to generate much of a reaction.

"I need to get ready."

"So do I," he replied.

There was a groan and stomping from the other side. Yukimura let out a small chuckle.

"But you're a boy, Nii-san. What could you possibly need to do?"

Yukimura opened the door a crack resignedly and slipped out, letting Sumiko dash in. "Fine, I get it. Take your time, Koko."

"Thanks," Sumiko muttered. She closed and locked the door behind her.

Yukimura laughed again and went into his room, unhooking his uniform from the closet door. He set it gently on his bed, admiring the material as it slid through his fingers, whispering as it moved against his skin.

It really wasn't all that different from the old middle school uniform, but there were certain details that stood out. Like how the shade of green on the blazer was just a shade darker than the middle school one and how the tie was striped differently—green-and-white instead of blue-and-white. There was also the addition of the white pin on his heart that declared Yukimura's first-year-ness, along with the black shoes instead of brown.

It seemed fitting to Yukimura that his surroundings would change since he had.

The bell rang once, and only once, which informed Yukimura that it was Sanada—because only he could keep himself from re-tugging the elegantly crafted chain that served as a bell. He was earlier than expected, considering that Yukimura had actually set his alarm clock thirty minutes earlier than needed to claim the bathroom before Sumiko, who always spent at least an hour going in and out of the bathroom to apply and reapply makeup. (Their parents could never understand their children and how they woke before seven.)

Smiling, Yukimura poked his head out the window and watched his friend shift uncomfortably on the doorstep, to much of a stiff to let himself in even though he knew where Yukimura kept the spare key.

"Just let yourself in, Genichirou. I'll be along in a minute," Yukimura called down, causing his head to snap up. Yukimura grinned at the surprise that had flashed across Sanada's face. "Don't let your guard down," Yukimura teased.

Sanada grumbled. He was already dressed in his uniform, which he filled well with his broad shoulders. If it wasn't for the white pin, he almost could have fooled a teacher into thinking he was a third-year. "Don't do that, Yukimura," he muttered, bending down and pulling away a loose chunk of red brick from the perimeter of Yukimura's garden. He slid the key from the small niche and replaced it.

Yukimura receded into his room and turned back to the uniform, slipping it over himself haphazardly. Sanada was waiting for him, so vanity would have to wait. He buttoned down the white dress shirt and shrugged on the green blazer. Tossing his tie over his shoulder, Yukimura toed into his black shoes and headed downstairs,

"Are you ready?" Sanada asked, standing up from the couch as Yukimura appeared.

"Yeah, let's go." Yukimura nodded, bending down to tie his shoes.

"Seiichi, are you going already?" his mom's voice called. She appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in an orange nightgown and still looking drowsy.

"Mm-hmm."

Ryoko's blue eyes narrowed. "No, you aren't. Not like that Seiichi." With the superhuman speed of a nitpicky mother, she flew downstairs and slid the tie from Yukimura's shoulder, lightly whipping her son. She dragged him to his feet and looped the tie around his neck.

"It's not that bad," Yukimura murmured under his breath. He didn't say it aloud; his mother was scary even when she was being normal. It was one of the things he'd inherited from her.

"Hmm?" Ryoko asked, barely looking up as her nimble fingers did his tie and straightened the collar on his shirt. "What was that, Seiichi?"

"Nothing." Yukimura pulled back, stepping behind Sanada in an attempt to use his friend as a shield.

Unfortunately, it worked, and all of Sanada's imperfections were laid bare.

"Genichirou, shame on you," Ryoko scolded, stepping forward to fix an already-perfect tie. "Look, there's a piece of hair." She plucked a nonexistent strand of hair from his shoulder.

Sanada froze. His eyes slid to the side. Yukimura held back a snort, recognizing the signs. "Yukimura-san, can I have a lint roller?"

Ryoko beamed up at him. "See, Seiichi you should learn from Genichirou." She turned around and bustled into the laundry room, emerging a few seconds later with a lint roller.

"Thank you." Sanada took it in his fingers.

Yukimura fought back a roll of his eyes—this is what he got for introducing two micro-managers to each other. "C'mon, Genichirou, we should go meet up with Renji." He tugged lightly on Sanada's sleeve, twisting around to face the door. "Kaa-san, we're leav—"

She hugged him.

Yukimura froze as Ryoko buried her nose into his chin-length hair. After a brief moment of surprise, he wound his arms around her and patted her back comfortingly. "It's okay, Kaa-san," he soothed, like he'd always done for Sumiko when she used to need him to scare away the monsters.

Behind him, Sanada shifted his bag uncomfortably.

Then, Yukimura felt tears seep through his uniform. His eyes widened fractionally, but he just patted her back until she pulled away and held him at arm's length. Her eyes were moist and slightly red. "Are you okay, Kaa-san?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Ryoko muttered, looking down and laughing. She dropped her arms to her side and rubbed them on her nightgown. "It's just—my Seiichi's all grown up."

Yukimura smiled gently, slightly confused by this sudden show of affection. After all, it was just high school. Still, he pulled her into another hug. "I'll see you after school, Kaa-san." He drew back, kissing her gently on the cheek in the process.

Ryoko's eyes alighted on the newly acquired tearstains on his uniform. They narrowed. "Oh, now I've got your new uniform dirty. Silly me." She rubbed at the dark splotches on his shoulder. "They won't come out," she grunted, rubbing harder. "Hold on a second, Seiichi. I'll get a rag." She turned and ran into the kitchen.

Yukimura laughed at his mother's odd mood swings and nodded to Sanada. "We should go now. Or we won't be able to stop at Momoe's." His and Sanada's rising early plus the lack of tennis practice gave them time for an actual sit-down breakfast, a rare treat given their soon-to-be rigorous schedules.

Sanada bobbed his head.

"Kaa-san, we're going now," Yukimura called, already halfway out the door. He hooked a pre-packed backpack from the ground beside the door, dangling it by the strap.

Ryoko emerged with a wet towel in her hand. "What about breakfast?" she asked. "And your uniform."

"It'll air dry, and Genichirou and I are stopping by Momoe's." Yukimura was now on the other side, peeking in through the crack he left.

She _tsked_. "Fine, go; leave your old mom here." She sat down at the table and flicked the rag at them. "I gonna give your lunch to your dad."

Yukimura shook his head. "I'll see you this afternoon, Kaa-san. I'll buy lunch at school."

He shut the door.

* * *

Momoe's, or Momoe's Super Ultra Delicious Ramen, was a renowned ramen spot downtown. They served ramen—and sushi, pizza, and just about any other food found in Japan, so it was a rather popular area. On Monday mornings, there was usually a discount meal for anyone who happened to stumble upon it—and few people did, save athletes and the early-bird tourist.

Yukimura and his friends were regulars to the place.

When he and Sanada entered, the place was already rather crowded, filled almost to the brim with early-morning runners, businessmen, and other students. Yanagi waved at them from their regular booth in the corner, a menu held in front of him even though he already had the whole thing memorized.

"Have you ordered yet?" Yukimura asked, sliding into the seat opposite him and setting his backpack at his feet. Sanada took his regular place beside Yanagi, scooting away when he turned and smiled.

"Good morning, Genichirou, Seiichi." He folded the menu in front of him. "I got you _saba shioyaki_ and Genichirou Okinawa udon."

Sanada coughed.

Yukimura cocked an eyebrow. "Udon? He hates that."

Yanagi nodded. "Affirmative, but my data states that he plans on disciplining himself by denying himself his favorite things and replacing them with his dislikes. Isn't that right, Genichirou?" He turned to Sanada with a small smile, daring him to deny what he'd said.

He merely nodded. "Thank you, Renji." He pulled his hat down over his eyes and turned away from the booth.

"Um…excuse me, sir," a girl said, stopping by with their food. "Could you please scoot inward?"

He looked up. "Yeah, sorry," he muttered, following the girl's instructions, which brought him closer to Yanagi.

"Thank you for the food," said Yukimura, smirking at Sanada while keeping his eyes on the girl.

The girl blushed. "It's no problem, sir."

Yukimura focused on her and smiled brightly. She turned red and scampered away.

"Seiichi, you are a sadist," Yanagi murmured.

Yukimura tilted his head innocently. "A sadist? Don't group me with Seigaku's Fuji-kun. Plus, look what you're doing to poor Genichirou. He's turning green."

Sanada peered up through his hat. His usually olive skin had turned just a shade on the green side as he fought to swallow his breakfast. Finally, he choked. "I'm going soft," he muttered.

Yanagi laughed. "Shall I order something else, Genichirou?"

"No. Absolutely not, Renji," Sanada said, in the tone he used on Akaya when the younger boy was being particularly troublesome.

"Alright, alright." Yanagi dug into his own breakfast: _nakemono miso_, ordered especially to harass Sanada because it was his favorite.

Yukimura finished chewing and balanced his chopsticks along the diameter of the bowl. "So, are you guys excited for the first day of high school?"

"Quite so," Yanagi replied mildly. "I, personally, am looking forward to the day Genichirou blushes because of a girl."

Sanada made a guttural sound in the back of his throat. "You're screwed up, Renji. And there is nothing special about today; school is school." He sipped his soup and almost wretched.

Yukimura laughed musically. "But there is, Genichirou. It's high school, and three years later, we'll be moving on with our lives. This chapter of our lives is almost over."

And then Yukimura realized why his mother had cried that morning. Time wouldn't stop, not even for the Child of God.

"We'll be all grown up," he murmured, chuckling at how he hadn't realized it sooner.

Both Yanagi and Sanada were silent, sensing the change in their friend and probably guessing what he'd been thinking. They resumed eating in silence, because Sanada was making a heroic effort to preserve the moment and not choke.

"Then we just have to make the most of it," he broke out, staring ahead with a fierce fire raging in his eyes.

"Right," Yanagi agreed. "There is an eighty-nine percent chance that Rikkai will win Nationals again this year with us on the team."

"Yes, Rikkai's unstoppable Big Three," Yukimura said.

But he knew that whatever happened, he would always have Renji and Genichirou to depend on.

* * *

Marui leaned back against his arms and yawned loudly, squeezing tears to his eyes. "Man, I can't believe school's beginning again. And just when summer started."

Jackal rolled his eyes. "A week ago, you were complaining about the lack of things to do."

"But that was when we didn't have school!" Marui reasoned, digging into his pockets to pop a slice of gum into his mouth. He chewed then blew a bubble. "Now it's completely different. Early morning, tennis practices, fan girls." He shuddered.

"And here I thought you liked the attention," Jackal remarked dryly, thinking back to a few months before school had let out the year before and how Marui had been practically mobbed by fans.

"Like, my ass," Marui muttered.

Jackal cocked an eyebrow, a retort on the tip of his tongue.

"Shit, Bunta, I didn't know you felt that way." Niou approached, lazily chewing on gum as well. He looked different, older somehow. Maybe he had finally trimmed that rattail of his.

"Language, Niou-kun," Yagyuu reprimanded.

Marui shot Niou a glare. "I'd tell you where you can stick it, but I'm not sure you have one of those."

Niou popped his gum in a scarily Marui-like manner. "Jackal, I love you," he said, mimicking Marui's voice.

"Huh?" Jackal looked around and then realized that it was Niou. "Don't do that, Niou. It gives people the wrong idea."

"Yeah! Now they'll all think I'm gay!" Marui shouted angrily.

The people around them turned and eyed him warily. They were all Rikkai students.

"Nothing to see here people," Niou said loudly, in a way that suggested something quite the opposite. He waved them away, smirking. "We're just helping him deal with sexual-orientation issues."

They all turned away, but their ears remained perked.

"Niou-kun, don't say it so loudly," Yagyuu scolded, talking at the same volume. He had joined along in his own subtle, gentlemanly way.

"Fuck you guys," Marui muttered sourly. ("Why, Marui-kun, I was just trying to help.") "Guys, it isn't what you think!" he said to the obviously eavesdropping crowd. "I'm just being victimized here."

"Heh-heh, too late." Niou slapped his back good-naturedly, his eyes still bright with mischief. "But don't worry. They won't judge. Maybe."

"Yeah, we're all nice people," Jackal added. "I'm sure we can find you a club in the school or something."

"Not you too, Jackal!" Marui wailed. "My reputation is ruined—hey! Watch it kid!"

A kid had zoomed through them, his backpack bouncing behind him and knocking Marui into Jackal. He weaved through the crowd of students heading toward Rikkai high school, uncaring that he had just reinforced Marui's troubles.

"Wonder what he's rushing about for," Niou muttered.

* * *

"Sorry, gay kid!" Yasuo didn't bother to turn around as he called this back, dashing through the crowd. Sure, it was Marui Bunta, but he had his sights set on bigger fish.

He barreled on, gaining speed as Rikkai's wall got closer, until he spread one leg out in front of him and stepped up onto the bike rack set conveniently under the brick wall. Another stride and he was on the wall and then flying down, landing with cat-like grace on hard-earned muscles. He planted his hands on the cement ground for barely a second, but long enough so it looked like a cool moment from a movie, and then continued his mad dash through the crowd.

It was the first day of school, and as always, stands from every useless club in the school were taking up the lawn, the chosen representatives from these clubs trying to gather kids. The sports teams had the biggest lines so far. Yasuo made his way to the one with _Boys' Tennis_ stitched into a red banner above it. He bulldozed into the last person in line and continued forward, until he was at the front.

"Hold on a sec, kid. You just cut through the whole line," the third-year manning the stand scolded, intercepting Yasuo's hand as he reached for the pen.

"If he's at the front, just let him sign up," another blond-haired third-year muttered, staring ahead with boredom glinting in his gaze. He had his feet propped up on the stand and his arms folded over his chest.

"Now, Koichi, if we let everyone cut, what do you think would happen?" the first boy asked, oblivious to his patronizing tone.

"They'd sort it out?" the second boy murmured.

The first boy sighed and spread his arms out. "But it's the principle of the thing, Koichi. It's not right."

"Kid, move," the person behind Yasuo demanded.

"Shush," Yasuo hissed, jamming his elbow into the boy's groin and causing him to double over. He looked at the two arguing third-years and inched his hand toward the pen.

"Don't even try it," the first boy warned in a low voice, spotting Yasuo's hand from the corner of his eye. He slammed his hand down on the pen.

"Damn it, Makoto, just let the kid sign up already. You're holding up the line." Koichi pressed his fingers to his temples in agitation.

Makoto looked up and realized that there was indeed a whole line of agitated teenage boys being forced to wait unnecessarily. "Fine, kid, but remember: nobody likes cuts." He pushed the pen at Yasuo with an amiable smile. "You're off the hook for now." He mussed up Yasuo's hair.

"Thank you, senpai," Yasuo muttered, bowing out of the way and taking the pencil to scrawl his name in Kanji on the sign-up sheet. He slipped a registration paper off of the top of the pile and quickly slid out of line.

With his "thunder" now officially ruined, Yasuo supposed that he could get some data on his fellow first-years. Around him, old friends and new acquaintances were greeting each other with bright smiles. Both of Yasuo's friends had moved away during the summer, leaving him by himself. Which was totally fine, but at times like these, it was terribly awkward to be a lone star among a group of people who just—belonged. He probably didn't stand out at all in reality, but in his head, he was like a sour thumb.

A light bulb appeared above his head.

"Hah-hah, get it!" someone shouted into his ear, slapping his backpack.

Yasuo ducked away and whirled to glare at the idiot. "Dude. What the hell?" he demanded. Who did that to a stranger? He hadn't even been having an idea.

…Wow, did that sound stupid or was it just him?

"Sorry," the boy said, holding out a hand. The first thought Yasuo had when he saw him: Wow, is he really a boy? The second: Why his voice so low?

"Um…" Yasuo stared at the hand; had he picked his nose with it? He certainly looked like the type. Yasuo weighed some numbers in his head and decided that there was roughly eighty percent chance likelihood of him being at least an ear-picker if not something worse. "No thanks," he said, pushing down the hand with an index finger.

He looked up, and the boy seemed be holding in snickers. Yasuo arched an eyebrow, and he burst out into wild laughs as he turned around and raced toward a group of other boys who were cracking up in the shade of a cherry blossom tree.

_The hell?_ Yasuo thought again, staring at them with a bemused expression.

"Hah-hah, the fuck d'you got on you, man?" someone shouted behind him.

Yasuo whirled around, his face still carrying his confusion. The person was gone. It had probably just been a bored upperclassmen looking for a first-year to tease. Yasuo hated people who made fun of other people for their own amusement. _The bastard,_ he thought venomously, clenching his hands at his sides.

"Um…excuse me." A finger tapped on Yasuo's shoulders. "You have something on your backpack."

Yasuo turned around. His eyes flew open wide; in front of him stood the Big Three—Yukimura Seiichi, Yanagi Renji, and Sanada Genichirou. Yukimura was the one who had tapped his shoulder, his slender fingers arched gracefully at his side now.

"Um…" Yasuo immediately cast his eyes downward. "Thanks, Yukimura-san." He reached behind him and tugged off a piece of paper, not bothering to look at the writing scrawled on it before he crumpled it up and stuffed it into his pocket. He plunged his hands after it and hunched his shoulders.

"Are you new here? I've never seen you around Rikkai," Yukimura observed.

Yasuo didn't look up as he smirked in satisfaction—_That's because I didn't want you to know about me._

Then: "He is Yuudai Yasuo, a first-year here, like us. He doesn't play any known sports, but his physique is comparable to some of our second-stringers back at the mid school, which suggests that he trains privately. He is of a gifted intelligence, his IQ ranging around 115 to 125. Grades range from high-eighties to mid-nineties. Body measurements are—"

Sanada coughed. "Enough, Renji."

Yanagi quieted.

_Damn._ Yasuo pursed his lips, but otherwise stayed silent. His fists clenched in his pockets; he itched to challenge them there and then. But—he had to wait, bide his time. "Wait for the opportune moment," according to Captain Jack Sparrow.

Yukimura laughed lightly. "I hope I see more of you this year, Yuudai-san." He patted Yasuo on the shoulder, acting like his touch was some great gift to Yasuo, and brushed past him to the front of the tennis line.

As Yasuo walked away, he couldn't help but notice that Makoto hadn't said anything to them about "cuts."

* * *

"Hit it, dogface! C'mon, what're you? I've seen two-year-olds play better than that! That's pathetic!"

Kirihara barely looked up from his phone as a superfluous amount of insults took shape on his tongue and flooded out of his mouth. He didn't care that there was nothing to be corrected or that everyone was doing everything right—somewhere, sometime, someone would mess up, and he would be prepared to shout at them for it. He continued texting on his phone, leaving all the technical stuff to his newly-gained assistant, Masanori.

The boy was a jumpy little specimen with a bird-like frame and wide bubble eyes that had almost scared the shit out of Kirihara when he'd first seen him, not that he'd ever admit that. And, believe it or not, the kid had actually _offered_ his services. No bullying needed. Well, actually, some bullying. Kirihara had found some second-year guys beating on the kid during school, and being the do-gooder he was (he'd actually just been looking for someone to beat up), he had helped the shrimp out. After that, Masanori hadn't let Kirihara out of his sight. And Kirihara was really rather proud—he bet that even Niou-senpai couldn't get a personal assistant on the first day of school as a _first-year_.

Another thing for him to be happy about. Even though all of his upperclassmen had left for high school, they were in _that_ hellhole at the bottom of the food chain, and here Kirihara was: sitting high on a throne of success and might as a third-year at the top. (Actually, he was sitting on a park bench amidst sweaty, terrible excuses for tennis players, but same dif.)

He got a text. It was from Yukimura.

His phone had been practically buzzing with texts from random strangers for the first hour or two of school. By lunch, the myriad had subsided. Now, only an occasional few from Kirihara's most trusted confidants (AKA: his _"posse"_) appeared regularly. He'd been cleaning out his inbox when the first text from Yukimura since the school year officially started appeared.

Kirihara opened it up: _Akaya, how's Sumiko?_

His eyes narrowed. _Who?_

_Sumiko, Akaya. Sumiko, my baby sister._

His eyes bugged out of their sockets. _YOU HAVE A SISTER!? WHEN THE FUCK DID THAT HAPPEN?_

Kirihara could practically hear the sigh from the other end. _I sent you ten texts about her last night, Akaya._

_Why would you do that?_ Kirihara typed back. He assumed his ex-captain would take a while to get his head around that, and switched back to his inbox.

There was a text from Yanagi-senpai. It read: _Language, Akaya_.

Kirihara wrote back, _You're such a stalker._ He then went back to his and Yukimura's chat.

_Akaya, I told you to keep an eye out for her at school._

_Really?_ Kirihara asked.

_Akaya, I don't have time for this, and neither do you, I must remind you. Just, in the future, watch out for Sumiko at school. She's the second-year with blue hair._

Kirihara snorted. He didn't have time to look after Yukimura's little sister. He had a social life of his own, people to bully, teachers to annoy, friends to grace with his company. Besides, she was just Yukimura 2.0, nothing important, certainly not as great as the original.

But—Kirihara hesitated—it _was_ Yukimura, Kirihara's former captain, and if he would put his pride aside to ask _Kirihara_ for a favor…Well, Kirihara could always demand some sort of payback. Kirihara entertained this new idea in his head, watching the tennis courts before him.

Why was Masanori playing human target instead of getting him water?

Kirihara's eyes widened and he stood up with a series of cuss words. "You little turd! I need water!" he roared.

"Sorry!" Masanori squealed, quickly scrambling away from his bullies.

Kirihara sat back down in satisfaction. Being captain felt good. He now understood why Sanada had been such a control freak—because it was so much fun. He supposed he could help Yukimura (he imagined the former captain kneeling in front of him and thanking him). After all, Kirihara was feeling generous today, and he was in a good mood.

Plus, had a _fuckin'_ personal assistant.

* * *

A/N: Yep, so this is basically my take on what'll happen when the regulars go into high school. Warning: there are a lot of OCs in this story, but I will definitely try to stay away from the Mary-Sue/Gary-Stu area. The only OCs that I go in depth with are the ones that will contribute to the story.

Without further ado, I hope you like this first chapter. I understand it was kind of weird, but please, just bear with me for a while. It should get better.


	2. Allons-y

**Allons-y**

It was on the second day of school during lunch when the seven ex-regulars finally met up. Although the first day hadn't been all that busy, that day was purely reserved for getting acquainted with the new school and/or year. Not one time had all seven of them been free on the first day. But then again, they hadn't known each other for very long.

They were sitting around a circular wooden table now, the sunlight bringing every microscopic speck of dust into focus; Marui by Jackal, Yagyuu by the Big Three, and then Niou. Due to a few rather vicious games of Russian BS, most of the regulars were donning expressions of defeat, because Niou, Yagyuu, and Yanagi kept on winning. The seventh round bore more chance of success for some, others not.

"Three aces," Marui announced, openly smirking as he slapped three cards facedown on the table.

"Ah, what the hell?" Jackal shrugged as he stared at the single card in his hand and at the pile of cards at the center of the table. "BS."

Marui grinned as he slipped three cards off the deck and spread them out in front of Jackal. "Pick one."

Jackal's hand hovered over the first one, a frown crossed his face, then he flipped over the third to discover an ace. "Shit. Why are we playing Russian BS again?" he asked.

"Because everything's more fun the Russian way." Niou grinned.

"Yep. Now, take 'em!" Marui exclaimed, pushing the pile of cards toward him.

He sighed and added them to his hand, then slapped five cards down. "Five twos."

"Two threes," Yagyuu said, spreading out his remaining two cards on the table.

Holding his cards in a fan over the lower half of his face, Yukimura smiled and glanced at Niou expectantly. "Go on, Niou. BS him. We all know how this is gonna end."  
"Chicken," Niou accused. Still, he picked a card out of the two and flipped it over, pushing the seven cards at Yagyuu when he revealed a king. "C'mon, Hiroshi, what's gotten into you, trying to outsmart the Trickster?"

"Egotism is a terrible shade on you—_'Trickster,'_" Yagyuu murmured.

"One four," Yanagi said, slipping a card from his hand and onto the table.

Nobody BSed him. The six boys turned expectantly to Sanada, who was staring intently at his hand that consisted of half the deck. Jackal had the other half. He looked up at their intent stares and shot them a look.

"It's your turn, Genichirou," Yukimura reminded him, shooting an elbow at his side.

"I don't have any cards to put down though," Sanada told him in a low voice.

Yanagi set his cards facedown with a sigh. "Of course, it was in the data," he muttered. Turning to Sanada, he reasoned, "Then _lie_. That's the point of BS."

Grumbling, he pulled a card from his hand and choked out, "One five."

"BS, Sanada-kun," Yagyuu said.

Muttering, Sanada snapped his card and Yanagi's from the table before he could flip it over.

"Soft. That's what I get for lying," Niou mimicked.

Marui rolled his eyes. "Remind me never to suggest BS when it's just me, you, and Sanada," he said to Jackal.

"Deal."

Yukimura picked four cards from his hand of eleven and set them down on the table. "Four sixes."

"One seven," Niou declared.

Then, it was Marui's turn again. They went a full circle until coming back again to Niou, who grinned and spread his hands out on the table.

"Damn it, Niou. How do you always win these things?" Marui demanded, slamming his remaining cards face-up in front of him.

"What is this? Like, the fourth time already?" Jackal questioned, shoving his cards to the center.

"Actually, third. Yanagi-kun won the first two times, and I won the other two times," corrected Yagyuu, not missing a chance to gloat with subtlety.

Niou shrugged. "It's a talent, not that I expect you to know what that is."

Marui snorted. "Yeah, right. I bet you just cheated."

"Desperation makes your waistline look thicker, Bunta," Niou retorted, gathering the cards and passing them to Yagyuu. "Shuffle away, Hiroshi."

"So, you guys ready for tennis?" Yukimura said to Yanagi and Sanada. Yagyuu began to deal the cards, but he opted out of the game as did they.

"I'm guessing that was supposed to be a clever conversation-starter," Yanagi said.

Yukimura glared at him. "Like you ever guess. But, anyway, d'you think the captain'll mind if I don't bring in my registration form today?"

"You forgot?" Marui asked incredulously, looking up from his cards.

Sanada cocked an eyebrow. "Seiichi, you're acting like a forgetful first-year."

Yukimura laughed. "Fitting, since I am a first-year and the stress of school has made me forgetful. You are perceptive as always, Genichirou."

"You know what I mean," Sanada said, refraining from getting flustered. "This is out of character for you, Seiichi."

"I agree. Even Niou got his signed, or at least bothered to forge a signature," Yanagi added.

"Oh, that reminds me," Niou put in. "Three jacks."

"Bull," said Marui recklessly.

"Pick one."

He flipped over a jack. "Shit!"

The librarian looked up and put a finger to her lips. "Shh."

Yukimura rolled his eyes, turning back to Yanagi and Sanada. "Guys, c'mon, I didn't commit a crime. It's completely natural."

But not for him; the whole team knew that, even if most of them put it out of their minds for the moment. Had Sanada not been a loyal friend as he was, he probably would have shrugged it off because Yukimura, despite the nicknames, was still just a boy. But tennis was this boy's life, and he couldn't help but he worried.

"Seiichi, is something wrong?" Sanada asked, the usual stern edge leaving his tone.

Yukimura smiled and defied Yanagi's data when he didn't immediately snap back with a comment about how it wasn't anyone's business but his own. "I've just been thinking—and maybe tennis isn't everything." At the group's astonished expressions, he laughed and elaborated. "I mean, it's still _my life_, but maybe it doesn't have to be my only life."

Little did they know how much each word pained him, and neither did he.

* * *

"Good, go ahead," Makoto said dismissively, waving his hand airily at the first-year. He turned to his vice-captain, Koichi, and continued. "Anyways, this is a new year. I expect we'll have a healthier relationship now that we're both third-years and captains."

Koichi rolled his eyes and continued texting on his phone. "Uh-huh, yeah, alright," he grunted.

Not much of a reply, but Makoto had come to expect this out of Koichi. He nodded, satisfied, and started along a new vein. "So, did you hear about the new first-years? The ex-captain is really good, and apparently very scary."

"Yeah, Yukimura Seiichi," Koichi acknowledged.

"I trust you'll remain impartial."

He looked up with a coolly arched eyebrow.

Makoto laughed. "Yeah, I know, just—you know what I mean. You can never be too cautious."

"Mm-hmm," Koichi mumbled dubiously, returning to his phone.

Makoto smiled and turned back to the line of first-years. The boy from before was at the front. "Hey, kid, you didn't cut again, did you?" said Makoto, putting a hand out to stop him before he could slip past.

Yasuo shot him a freezing glare, tempering it by casting his eyes downward. "No, senpai," he said, pushing in a protruding edge on the stack of registration forms.

Makoto nodded and let him pass, turning to the next boy. Even though it was only the second day of school and many other students would probably be at home or hanging out with friends, the boys and girls of Rikkai were busy with the first day of club activities. Rikkai was, after all, a school known for its many successful clubs (arts, academia, athletics). Starting any later would be "completely bogus," according to their club adviser.

Makoto's eyes lit up with interest as Yukimura, Sanada, and Yanagi approached. Sanada and Yanagi gave him their registration forms. The two exchanged a few hushed words with Yukimura before they went ahead, while Yukimura hung back with a sheepish smile.

"I apologize, but I'm afraid I forgot to get my form signed," he admitted, shrugging.

Makoto blinked. This was the boy he'd heard so many rumors about, some reasonable and others not but all with the same embedded truth. This was the boy whose tennis was so fearsome that he could strip his opponents of their five senses. This was the boy who had forgotten his registration form like a naïve, blundering kid. Makoto tried not to be disappointed.

"Um…of course, Yukimura-san. Just get it signed tomorrow, okay?" He smiled.

"Thanks, senpai." Yukimura bowed and raced to catch up with his friends.

"That was Yukimura Seiichi, wasn't it?" asked Koichi in a tone that was just as disbelieving as Makoto felt.

He nodded, and then perked up. "Well, I suppose school's been stressful." He shrugged.

"Mm-hmm," Koichi hummed again. "That Yukimura better be as good as people say."

Makoto nodded, thinking about the young boy he had seen last year. He had to believe that Yukimura wouldn't be a disappointment like their old captain.

"So he's a bit forgetful. He won't disappoint."

* * *

"Alright, kids, I'm Makoto Nobuo, your captain. Since it's the first day of practice, we're gonna watch a video and then get on with club rules. 'Kay?"

Yasuo bobbed his head along with the rest of the first-years, though he couldn't muster up enough will in himself to care. Makoto had a plain persona. His black hair sprouted from his head, then drooped down like a wilted flower. His smile was friendly and subdued, as was his posture and his voice, which lacked the controlling edge that captains should have, in Yasuo's opinion. Already, he could see that this dime-a-dozen boy was only shown respect because of his title and rank.

He craned his head up to watch as Makoto pressed a few buttons on the TV and a video began playing. It portrayed dozens of boys, evenly spaced, practicing swings on a tennis court, with a voiceover from Makoto in the background. The camera panned over the sea of black-and-yellow (the same garish colors, Yasuo thought with a sigh) then switched to one of the matches Yasuo had seen last year at Nationals, cutting away the moment Rikkai scored the winning point. Again, snippets of normal practice appeared on the screen, with Koichi, this time, talking in a rough baritone in the background about what was expected of team members: integrity, commitment, hard-working, perseverance. _You forgot skill,_ Yasuo thought dryly.

The video ended. Slowly, the first-years around him began chatting amongst each other and stretching their necks from craning for so long. Yasuo tilted his head from right to left, groaning as he heard cracks from his neck.

"Quiet down, people," Makoto instructed. "As you can see, here in Rikkai, we take tennis very seriously. That's why we had you guys sign that oath in the registration form. So, we'll just go over some rules and then, if we still have time, we'll let you guys play some matches.

"First things first: no cheating during matches. This is a big one, and I know you guys are probably like, 'Well, no shit,' however this is extremely important. Back at the middle school, I've heard that things worked differently, but you're in high school now. You guys are growing up, and getting into a habit of manipulation to achieve goals is not a good idea in life."

To Yasuo, the words sounded rehearsed, like a tape-recorder replaying what needed to be said every year. He looked at the vice-captain, the blond-haired boy, and traced his steely gaze to Yukimura, who was staring back placidly, his smooth expression unwavering despite the implied insult.

"Second," Makoto continued, "we will not tolerate any tricks that damage our property or threaten the club's position. The school sets aside money for this club, but we have a limit. So, the more you break, the less you have.

"Third, respect your elders. Even if they aren't regulars or if you're better than them, it is only proper of you to respect upperclassmen."

_Apparently your VC doesn't think so,_ Yasuo thought, catching how Koichi rolled his eyes.

"Now, this doesn't cover even half of it, but the rules are flexible. Nothing is set in stone, which means, to those of you who think that I'm allowing you guys to play pranks, that I can issue a punishment even if 'technically' you guys didn't do anything wrong.

"I'll hand things over to my vice-captain, Koichi Masayoshi, now," said Makoto, stepping back as Koichi stepped forward. "He'll explain the rest."

Yasuo felt the aura change around him as Koichi stepped forward. He was the exact opposite of Makoto, it seemed. His face was angular and sharp, while Makoto's was all soft lines; his mouth set into a thin line, while Makoto's were constantly smiling. He stood with a sense of carelessness; his back slumped slightly, with his weight more or less left to his left leg to handle. His hands were tucked into his pockets as he scanned the crowd lazily yet with eyes that immediately gave Yasuo the sense he missed nothing. Yasuo had to fight the urge to straighten up and hide his shortcomings in front of this man.

_Why isn't he the captain?_ he thought.

"Hey. So, you like tennis?" Koichi began in a monotone, not so much a question as a statement of fact. "I expect most of you joined because you expected to automatically be allowed to participate in tournaments. Wrong. There are requirements. First, you have to attend at least three practices out of five a week. Unless practice is canceled, we should have practices every afternoon on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Those are from when school lets out to when we say you can leave. On Tuesday and Thursday mornings, we'll have morning practices; they start from six-thirty to when school starts.

"Second, you have to be _good_ at tennis, and resilient. If you were to become a regular, meaning tournaments and fans, the practices will increase along with your training menus, which will be provided. Believe me, it's tough. But most of you don't need to worry about that, 'cause we won't be sorting out the good from the bad until next week."

Yasuo swore he saw Koichi looked at the Big Three from middle school. He smirked—_You're looking in the wrong place_.

"So, all in all, we run a pretty simple team here. Get here on time, do what you have to do, get out. You'll all be getting lockers today. Your practice gear will go in there. And, last but not least: Welcome to Rikkai Dai."

Koichi backed up, letting Makoto take over again. He'd said the whole speech in a lazy drawl.

Makoto laughed a stage-chuckle—fake, plastic, designed to relieve the tension left in the air after Koichi finished his speech. Two second-years flanked him this time, both grinning like idiots. "Alright, so, half the room follows Nagiri. The other half will follow Fukawa, and we'll get you lockers."

The first-years began to get up around Yasuo. He looked around and pushed himself up as well. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Yukimura, Sanada, and Yanagi going towards Nagiri, and even though he was supposed to go with Fukawa, he followed, surreptitiously slipping into the black-haired boy's group. He looked at Fukawa's group and could see that it was considerably smaller, but nobody seemed to care.

"Oh, and remember rule three," Makoto called.

Yasuo nodded and sidled up behind the trio, just bordering the bubble that they seemed to have drawn around them with their aura.

"So, you brats like tennis, huh?" Nagiri said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them with a hungry look in his eyes. "Good for you. Tennis is a great sport. Anyways, I'm gonna call out a name and a number. Said person will come up here and I'll give them their locker combo. After that, you'll go to the locker rooms"—he leaned to the side to show them a building—"and find the locker with that number. There should be a lock inside. You should know what to do next. After we're all set, we'll go the courts and rally a bit, 'kay? I assumed you guys all have tennis rackets."

Apparently, this was supposed to be funny. Yasuo wrinkled his nose as nervous laughter erupted in short bursts around him.

The first name Nagiri called was that of a geeky young boy, too young for high school, probably someone who'd skipped a grade. He immediately scampered up and went about what needed to be done.

Yasuo's name was nearly last; he didn't need to worry about getting called soon. He let himself look around as boy after boy was called, being careful not to look too curious. The first of the Big Three called was Sanada—Yukimura and Yanagi would come later as would Yuudai. Yasuo thought of approaching them. After all, it appeared that they _did_ know about him—or at least Yanagi did—so remaining incognito any longer would be useless.

"So, you guys excited?" he asked.

Both Yukimura and Yanagi turned to him in the middle of their conversation, regarding him as they would one below them.

"I think we met yesterday—Yuudai Yasuo." Yasuo held out a hand, smiling.

Slowly, Yukimura's lips pulled up pleasantly. "Yes, I remember. So, you _do_ play a sport, Yuudai-san. You're gonna have to change your data, Renji."

"Yes, it appears so," Yanagi murmured calculatingly.

Yasuo's gaze flickered to his perpetually closed eyes and he could _feel_ the other boy analyzing him, drawing conclusions, making predictions. Yasuo smirked—well, he was doing the same.

"I decided going stag this year was no fun." Yasuo shrugged and flicked his T-shirt. "So, you guys are the infamous Big Three, huh?"

"Two-thirds, yes," Yanagi said. Yasuo opened his mouth, but he continued with, "And before you say anything, Yuudai-san, yes, we hope to see you around, too."

Yasuo snapped his mouth shut, refusing to acknowledge that he had stolen the words right out from his mouth. He melded his features into another smile. "You _are_ as good at data as they say," he pretended to marvel.

"But you already know that."

He was beginning to regret approaching these two. Yasuo fought to keep his eyes from flicking about frantically. "Um…well, I suppose so, but—"

"But you just needed something to say, right?"

Again, he was left gaping like a fish out of water. "Well, I wasn't about to say that, but—"

Again, Yanagi cut him off. "But you were thinking it."

Open. Close. Open…Damn.

Then, Yukimura laughed. Yasuo felt his muscles relax, like the musical peels coming from his mouth had been some sort stress-reliever. "Renji, enough. You're scaring him," he chuckled.

"It's okay, Yukimura-senpai," Yasuo assured.

He bit his tongue.

The two were now looking at him with that air of amusement that wasn't quite hidden, but wasn't out in the open either.

"I mean, Yukimura-san," he corrected, but the damage was already done.

They still looked at him.

"Um…I'll just go now," Yasuo said, receding to his original spot behind them.

They started talking again after he left.

"You didn't have to be so hard on him."

"I suppose not, Seiichi, but he was annoying me."

"How so?"

"He should just come out and say it: he wants to challenge one of us."

* * *

Niou slipped his hands into his pockets and proceeded forward as Fukawa called his name and announced a number, 169. He liked that number; for one, it was a perfect square, for two (did people say that?), it was the square of "unlucky number" thirteen.

Fukawa leaned in as he went up and met his eyes. "Kid, I know your reputation—"

"I didn't know I was this famous," Niou cut him off, grinning lazily and quickly finding his combination on his clipboard. "Thank you, Fukawa-_senpai_."

The upperclassman hissed in annoyance, and Niou heard him mutter, "Whatever. He doesn't need a locker."

As Niou entered the locker room, he scanned the area, catching sight of every security camera and planning every possible prank that could be pulled in this area. He stuffed his tennis shorts, sneakers, and a T-shirt into his locker, and snapped the lock shut around it.

"Dude, you didn't need to piss him off like that," Jackal said when he got out.

"You're wasting your breath, Jackal," Marui told him, rolling his eyes. "He's just like that. It's his way of crying out for attention."

Niou pinned him with a glare. "I was going to say that that was the smartest thing you've said since forever, but now I take it back."

Marui puffed up. "I have said many a smart things since birth. When my mother gave birth to me, the doctor said that I was a one-in-a-million child."

Niou snorted. "Yeah. Only one child out of a million others is born naturally stupid."

"Niou, seriously? C'mon, we all know he can't win. Cut 'im some slack," Jackal intervened.

Marui nodded and clapped Jackal on the back. "Yeah, thanks, man—wait!" His eyes widened and the bubble he'd just blown popped. "Jackal, the betrayal!"

Rolling his eyes, Jackal struck up a conversation with Niou, ignoring Marui who was pointedly ignoring them. "So, anything new?"

"Nah, same old, same old," Niou replied. His eyes slid mischievously to Marui, who was loosely smacking his gum. Before Jackal could suspect anything, he returned their focus to him and added, "You?"

A shrug. "My parents want me to get a wig."

Marui, Niou could see, was now trying very hard not to rejoin the conversation. His chance was waning.

"Seriously? Man, that sucks," he said, scooting over towards Marui until they were back-to-back.

Jackal narrowed his eyes. "Niou, you—"

But it was too late.

Perfectly timed to the smack of gum, Niou pretended to trip over his nonexistent shoelaces and ran into Marui's back with a _thump_. The gum that he'd been smacking flew out of his mouth and, as an added bonus that Niou hadn't even thought of, into the back of another first-year.

"Aw, dude! Not cool," the boy exclaimed, turning around with his nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Niou, I told you not to," Jackal said helplessly.

"You know you think it's funny," Niou said dismissively.

The stricken Marui was now trying very hard to explain to the first-year that it wasn't his green apple gum that had landed on his back and that this stupid trickster was the reason behind it, and that—gah!

"Whatever," the first-year dismissed. "I don't care whose fault it was. I am _so_ gonna burn this shirt later."

Marui bristled. "I'll have you know that many girls would kill for—"

"Yeah, whatever," the boy said again. "Just, don't come near me again."

Marui stood there, stunned, and tried to ignore the glances of other first-years. "You!" he growled, whirling on Niou.

Holding in snickers, Niou backed away with his hands held up innocently. "Bunta, we all knew that you couldn't hold in words, but wow, since when were you unable to hold in food, too? Life's been tough on you, man." He dared to pat him on the back.

Marui fumed. "Dude, the only reason keeping me from downright _murdering_ you is the fact the Yukimura'd murder me if I did."

Jackal, having gotten over his amusement enough to mediate, moved forward and patted his shoulder. "Cool down, Bunta."

He shook him off. "No, don't tell me to 'cool down.' You try being tricked over and over again."

"Nobody but you is stupid enough to fall for the same simple things," Niou pointed out.

"Shut up, Niou," Marui steamed, stomping the other side of the line of people.

Jackal turned to him accusingly. "He's really mad."

Niou shrugged and pulled out the gum he'd snagged from Marui's pocket when he had bumped into him, offering a piece to Jackal who didn't feel bad enough to reject it. He popped another piece into his mouth and chewed until flavor erupted in his mouth in a symphony of green apple. "He'll get over it. He always does."

Jackal considered that, then shrugged, blowing a teeny, tiny bubble. "True."

Niou wrapped the gum around his tongue and blew air into it, the gum bloating up until it popped over his mouth. He licked it off and smirked. "Now _that's_ how you blow a bubble."

* * *

"Hey, Kirihara-kun, you ever eaten a beetle before?" Daisuke asked.

It was after tennis practice was over. Kirihara had finally gotten together with his old friend, Daisuke, and they were walking rather slowly to the bus together. After a whole hour and a half of acting serious and captain-like around equally annoying first-, second-, and third-years, Kirihara was ready to hang out with someone he really liked.

Kirihara made a face, wondering when his elementary school best friend had started calling him "Kirihara-kun." "The hell?" A pause, then: "Have you?"

Daisuke snorted. _"No."_ He whipped his head around, smacking Kirihara with his long hair.

"Egh." Kirihara grimaced, spitting the strands of raven out of his mouth. Oh, now he remembered: when Daisuke had joined the drama club and become a total drama king. "God, you don't have to be like that. You asked the question in the first place."

There was no reply, and Kirihara thought that Daisuke might actually be mad, but then he turned around with his eyes folded into happy crescents and his fingers posing as bunny-ears beside his face. "Just kidding. I fooled you, huh?"

"You've gone crazy since I last talked to you," Kirihara deadpanned.

Daisuke chuckled and slugged Kirihara's bicep. "Man, you have no idea."

Kirihara made to roll his eyes, but stopped mid-roll as he spotted a figure that looked remotely like Yukimura. He frowned, and then he brightened up at the thought that his old captain was visiting him. "Bu—mmph!"

Daisuke had clamped a hand over Kirihara's mouth, closing his fingers over Kirihara's nose and cutting off air. Kirihara thumped his chest, forcing the breath from his lungs and the strength from his muscles, and gasped for breath as his mouth was released.

"Dude, what was that for?" Daisuke heaved.

"You were trying to fucking kill me," Kirihara said, peering up through his mess of hair at the blue-haired person. He could see now that the person was wearing a girls' uniform and was, in fact, a girl.

"I was trying to stop you from embarrassing yourself."

Kirihara fought back a blush and tried to look indignant. "What d'you mean?"

Daisuke straightened up, thumping his back a few times. "_I mean_, that's Yukimura Sumiko, not Yukimura Seiichi." Kirihara looked at him, bewildered, and he smirked. "What? Did you think I wouldn't guess what you were thinking when you started to say 'buchou'?"

Kirihara sniffed, walking faster. Where had the kickass partner-in-crime gone and why was this prick replacing him? "I wasn't going to call her 'buchou.' I was gonna say 'buchou's little sister,'" he lied, and he might've felt bad about doing it to the old Daisuke, but this new one was just plain annoying.

"And why would you do that?" said Daisuke, not quite believing Kirihara.

"'Mura-buchou asked me to look after her," Kirihara declared proudly.

"Seriously? Why would he trust you?"

Kirihara glared at the superior tone that had been affected. "Maybe because I'm the only former regular on the team that's still in middle school."

Daisuke stroked his chin even though it was completely bald. Like a baby's butt, Kirihara thought. "What about the student council people?"

"Why do you care?" Kirihara demanded.

Daisuke shrugged. "Just making sure you didn't lie."

Kirihara snorted and pulled out his phone, deciding that his "awesome" new old friend was not worth his time or attention. He typed out a message to Yukimura stating that his sister was okay and waited for a reply. Better than waiting for the old Daisuke to return.

"Hey, you listening?"

Kirihara rolled his eyes. Drawled, "Yeah, definitely."

"Y'know, you're being a dick."

"_I'm_ being a dick?" Kirihara asked disbelievingly.

"Yeah. You're being all 'I'm better than everyone else' and stuff," Daisuke elaborated.

Kirihara rolled his eyes again. "Whatever, _'Suke_."

"Dude, see ya. Hope I don't see you around."

Kirihara didn't stop walking or look up until his old-friend-turned-prick disappeared on the bus ahead.

…The bus that was supposed to take him downtown.

His head shot up and he ran a few steps forward, knowing that he was already too late. He sighed—there went his schedule. Whatever. That schedule had been batshit anyway.

Daisuke wouldn't be back, he knew. However, he figured that that wouldn't be a problem; he had tons of other friends. The real problem was that his means of relieving the growling pain his stomach had just driven off with his since-a-second-ago best friend.

_If I'm so great, why doesn't one of my friends have a car? In fact, why don't _I_ have a car?_

He sighed and took off home at a slow jog, determined to get home before dinner grew cold.

* * *

A/N: Second chapter! For those of you who know me, updating within a month is pretty rare, so I'm proud.

Okay, so just one thing. Russian BS, for those of you who don't know what that is, is basically a variation on BS where the BSer flips one card over out of X number of cards. If the card is said number, the BSer takes the pile, and if it isn't, the liar takes the pile.

That's all. Hopefully I'll update again soon. For the time being, though: read, review, and everything else.


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